What Skeleton Woman Teaches Us About Ghosting, Entanglement, and Courageous Acts
a tale as old as time
this piece was originally published as the introduction to Issue No. 21 of our monthly print wellness & spirituality newspaper, The Retreat. To read Issue No. 21 in its intended analog form, shop past issues here.
There’s this old Inuit tale that’s unsettling, and slightly grotesque. While I promise to spare you most of the disturbing details, I will tell you this: the story begins with a classic father disapproval. We don’t know what the father character disapproves of, but we do know that he is so fed up with his young daughter that one day, he drags her to the cliffs and throws her into the sea. (Honestly, maybe it’s for the best, he seems like quite an ass.) The daughter’s body sinks to the bottom of the ocean, and as it erodes over time, she ‘transforms’ into Skeleton Woman.
Long—and kinda gross—story short, one day a fisherman is out fishing for dinner and catches his hook in the bones of Skeleton Woman’s ribcage. He’s psyched—he thinks that the great weight of the woman is a huge fish. Oh, he thinks, I’ll be able to feed the whole town! They will all love me!
As Skeleton Woman’s skull rises above the water’s surface, though, the fisherman shrieks in terror. He tries to speed away but the woman, tangled in his line, stays with him until they both reach the shore. There she lays on the sand, discombobulated and full of seaweed and crustaceans. As the fisherman looks at her more closely, he’s filled with love and kindness (blame it on the soft moody firelight?). He begins to untangle her, and places furs upon her body to keep her warm. Afterwards, he becomes tired—because well, he’s had a very long day, honey!—and he falls asleep. As he sleeps, a tear falls from the fisherman’s eye (fun fact: in all Folklore, a tear represents a magic potion of transformation) and Skeleton Woman is suddenly overcome with thirst—so she drinks the tear. And again, I’ll spare you the grotesque details, but: one thing leads to another, and Skeleton Woman has suddenly taken the fisherman’s heart from his chest and is beating it like a drum, singing her flesh back to life. Once she’s been revived, she tenderly places his heart back into his chest, cozily lays down with him, and they wake up tangled together—but in a good way. As the tale goes, this is how they remain forever: bound together in love.
For me, the story of Skeleton Woman is just a hop, skip, and jump away from a modern love story—both a romantic and platonic one. It’s a tale of the courage to heal—over and over again, within relationships with lovers and others, but also within one’s self.
How the hell did I come to this conclusion? Well, Reader, there are endless moments of death and rebirth in relationships, and although most relationships we know of don’t begin at the bottom of a sea covered in crustaceans, they do often begin with us being fractured, wounded, and tangled.
In order to get untangled and come back to life, Skeleton Woman must have the courage to be fully seen—and the fisherman must have the courage to see. But, like many of us, the fisherman’s initial response is fear, and he tries to pull a fast one on her (that speedaway in the rowboat move? Today we call that ‘ghosting,’ folks). His reaction (a bit immature, but also understandable) represents how often we fear things that are unknown; the things we perceive as ugly, dangerous, and overwhelming can quickly transform into threats. The tale suggests that courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to instead carry it, as we navigate with compassion and understanding.
As he begins to truly look at her and untangle her, the fisherman shows the woman that no matter who you are or what you’ve done—you are beautiful, whole, and worthy—of being seen, becoming untangled, and feeling alive.
Now Skeleton Woman is not completely off the hook here (pun not initially intended); remember, that in folklore, we are every character. Dr. Phil, my mom, and a dance teacher once said ‘it takes two to tango’—which, of course, is another fancy way of saying that the see-er can only see what the seen chooses to reveal. Skeleton Woman allows herself to be fully seen—bare-boned, with fractures, crustaceans, and all.
When I think of this month’s theme of Courage, this is what I’m talking about, Reader: vulnerability. To see and to be seen! To let even the parts of yourself that you think are scary or ‘ugly’ be witnessed—and to not look away when others show you theirs. I can’t think of anything more courageous.
I know what you might be thinking: that we shouldn’t need someone to tell us that we are worthy and whole—we should be able to be that for ourselves. But the truth is that we require support. Nothing is as powerful or transformative as allowing the parts of ourselves that we’ve deemed unworthy, ugly, or broken to be seen, mended, and reborn.
This is our constant work—and it’s the work we’re especially diving into this month, from many different expansive perspectives. In our muse interview with Manouska Jeantus, we delve into healing after heartbreak, pivoting from pre-med to fashion, and betting on yourself. In our Dating & Relationships column, our resident psychotherapist Amy gives us all pro bono guidance on how to ask for what you need, and how to know when to stay or go. We talk to potter Elena Bertolino about the courage to create when nothing is guaranteed. We play Bingo, Truth or Dare, and Would You Rather. And of course, we look at the devastation and grief that have come from the California wildfires, which have ultimately called on our courage to rebuild.
I’ll end with just one more thought on Skeleton Woman and the fisherman: call me crazy, but Skeleton Woman might just represent death—and when the fisherman takes a good hard look at her, maybe he’s confronting death (something we so often do not do in our modern world). And maybe—just maybe—that confrontation gives him the courage to finally fully live. Over and over again we are invited to face death—within our relationships to ourselves and to others—so that we can fully and authentically live. The cycle is not life/death…it is life/death/life. Having courage is also about accepting this cyclical nature: seeing the death of something (a heartbreak, a layoff, devastating health news, the loss of a loved place or person) not as an end, but as part of a larger process of change and renewal.
This month, let’s take a few cues from our new favorite couple and our features, as we discover that true courage lies in the ability to confront our fears, embrace vulnerability, and recognize the transformative power of compassion. May we embrace the unknown this month and beyond, as we offer love and care, and untangle together. May we remember that such an untangling can only lead to healing and transformation—for ourselves, and for the people, communities, and land that surrounds us all.
To read Issue No. 21 in its intended analog form, shop past issues here.
Love love love.